


A Personal Day

by ReginaDiCuoriForti



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Not A Fix-It, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Steve Friendly, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), just my thoughts, soft, tony's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 18:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19025743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaDiCuoriForti/pseuds/ReginaDiCuoriForti
Summary: The Rogue's return. Tony doesn’t want them. Tony doesn’t need them. But the world does. So he will deal with them... On every day except his birthday.





	A Personal Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Just thought I'd post this little drabble. EndGame hit hard, but I can't quite let go of Post Civil War Tony.
> 
> Also, for those following Kintsukuroi, I have 3/4 of a chapter written. If I don't post it tomorrow, slap me. (Also, thank you all for your kind words and motivation. I couldn't have done it without you.)
> 
> Edit:
> 
> Hello All, as a general notice
> 
> Do not argue in my comments section :)
> 
> This isn't Tony Stark discourse time or Civil War throw down time.
> 
> Keep arguing in my comments section and your comment will be moderated and anon's will be unable to comment.
> 
> Have a great day :)
> 
> ~Regina

 

It’s about one year and six months after Civil War when Tony’s birthday rolls around and he actually has time to celebrate. The first birthday after was spent arguing with the Accords Council about the rogues and bitterly drinking carbonated water instead of alcohol. He works himself to death for that whole year until he gets the pardons he needs.

 

The Rogue's return. Tony doesn’t want them. Tony doesn’t need them. But the world does. So he will deal with them... On every day except his birthday.

* * *

Tony spends a very long time avoiding the common area and thinking about his birthday. He lives at the compound only two days out of the week to appease the accords and Rogers (who insists on trying to revive a team that is long passed _dead_.) It doesn’t bother him much, as long as he doesn’t see them.

So he spends most of his time in his temporary workshop in the basement. Nothing he works on there is lethal or weaponizable or about his company. He will not trust them enough to do that. He isn't stupid. Instead, it’s his theoretical workshop, where he spitballs ideas about time travel and space travel and more ways to optimize world peace.

Today, he spins lazily in an office chair, tossing a tennis ball at the walls and telling birthday ideas to Friday. 

“Yacht party?”

“Done it. Summer of 1998.”

“Birthday Auction?”

“2002” 

“PlayBoy Bash?”

“2011” 

“Maybe...”

Friday sighs, mechanically and crackly. (She really enjoys the sound of mechanic sighs. She has the option of more human ones but something about the synthetic crackle of the mechanical ones makes her happy. Tony doesn’t get it but whatever makes his baby girl happy.)

“Boss, if I may make a suggestion?”

“Shoot Fri,”

“How about you do a _personal_ birthday. By my data, every birthday you’ve ever had has somehow had something to do with someone else. Considering the actions and accomplishments of this past year and the stress your… _house guests_ have put on you, I suggest taking a personal day.”

“A personal day?” Tony thinks about it. He’s never actually taken a personal day. Yeah, he’s slacked off from work but even then he was always working on inventions or different things for other people.

A personal day. He’s never taken one in almost fifty years.

“You know what Friday? That sounds great.”

* * *

 

Eventually, Tony and Friday exhaust all the ideas that they have and have formed a concrete plan for Tony’s personal birthday day.

When they finish it’s nearly midnight. There’s no food in the lab. Tony, hesitantly judges it safe to go up to the kitchens.

He’s kind of disappointed in himself, having to sneak around his own compound just to avoid people. But, he reasons, he is trying to avoid someone who literally crushed in his chest, so it’s not _unreasonable._

Unfortunately, this is not Tony’s day. Curled up on the couch are nearly all of the Rogues with the exception of Rogers who's spreading jam on bread with a homely, peaceful look on his face.

Tony’s mouth twitches in a frown. But, he’s a grown ass adult. He can handle five minutes alone with people he doesn’t like. Also, they’ve already seen him.

“Tony!” Rogers exclaims, eyes lighting up. 

Tony tries a smile, placid and polite. “Rogers,” he nods his head in acknowledgement, breezing by Rogers and ignoring the eyes on him. He opens the fridge and starts looking through. 

“I’m glad I caught you!”Rogers continues, unhindered by Tony’s lukewarm response. “I wanted to get details on the party!” 

Tony leans out of the fridge, head tilted in confusion and hands holding cold chicken alfredo. 

“What party?” 

Steve rolls his eyes with a long suffering smile. Tony finds it irritating. He can’t believe he at one point found it endearing and proof of care. He doesn’t say anything. “Funny, Tony. But for real, when’s the party?” 

“There is no party,” Tony articulates carefully. He does not mention that even if there were, neither Rogers nor his rogues would be invited. 

“Stark,” Clint calls for the couch, “Just tell Cap about your birthday party already!”

“Oh,” Tony says softly, opening the microwave and popping the alfredo in. “I’m not having one.” 

“What?” 

Rogers moves to stand right behind him, Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the microwave. He keeps his posture loose and relaxed and ready to go for his wrist gauntlet at any time. He knows Friday is also watching (and probably already seething with rage.) He doesn’t need to be nervous. He doesn’t need to be. 

(He is.) 

Tony stops the microwave before it beeps and pulls out a steaming plate of chicken alfredo. He rummages around in the silverware drawer and gets what he needs before turning around and facing Rogers. 

“I’m not having one.” he clarifies again. 

Then, he leaves.

* * *

For Tony’s birthday he decides on a home cooked meal and a bubble bath. No workshop, no SI, and no Avengers. Just Tony, in his penthouse cooking Pasta Ai Fiori Di Zucca and maybe making himself an Italian Cream Cake. His birthday falls on one of Compound custody days but he’ll be _damned_ if that stops him. 

He has his own floor in the compound and as it’s Creator, the Accords have _graciously_ allowed him to keep it. So, he’s standing in his own kitchen, barefoot, wearing a soft button down shirt and black pajama pants. 

He puts on some soft piano music, rolls up his sleeves and gets to it. There’s a certain utter peace to making the same recipes his Mom did. It’s been decades, but they’d done this so often it isn’t something he can easily forget. 

He’s well and truly relaxed, to the point where he’s started to hum to himself, dancing lightly around the kitchen. And it feels great, feels amazing to finally be at home somewhere. He feels, I don’t know, young. Free and worriless and _happy_ for the first time in what must be years. His mind is fresh and open and everything around him feels gentle and soft. A pleased smile curves across his lips - when Natasha Romanoff clears her throat. 

He jumps and almost drops the entire pot of pasta in his hands. 

“Heart condition,” he snarls at her as he puts down the pot. She rolls her eyes at him as if it’s some kind of funny joke. He wishes he were alone again. Then, at least, he could rub his chest without judgement. It’s his birthday, today of all days, he should get what he wants for. 

He keeps his hands at his sides. 

“Heard you declined to have a party.” Natasha says, looking at him. 

He busies himself with ignoring her, chopping zucchini instead. “Yes,” he says shortly. “I did.” 

“Okay Tony,” she says voice going tight. “It’s been months. Don’t you think it’s time for your little temper tantrum to be over?” 

Tony takes a deep breath and exhales. He wishes he were alone again. A temper tantrum? Wow, okay. 

“Listen,” he says because he hopes that taking the time out to explain it to her will make her go the _fuck_ away. “There is no motive here. No me, trying to get back at anyone so I didn’t invite them to my birthday party. I’m fifty five not _five_ . I’m tired and old and for _once_ I want to take a break and live drama and stress free.” He meets her eyes and forcibly holds them. “Not everything is about you lot.” 

Then, he picks up his knife and goes back to the zucchini. He hears her snort but doesn’t look up. “Of course,” she mutters. “Because everything’s about you, isn’t it?” 

He doesn’t bother looking up to address that and by the time he turns to put the zucchini in a pan she’s gone. 

Something in his chest loosens. Finally.

* * *

The next person to barge in on his birthday bash is of course Barton, because Romanoff sure knows how to antagonize him.

Tony is eating pasta, at a table he’s set, candles lit and low piano music playing in the background. He’s talking with Friday, because his girl is amazing and he hasn’t had a chance to catch up with her on her progress (She’s doing _amazing_ she is leaps and bounds ahead of where Jarvis was at this age and he can’t help but be proud of her. She says it's only possible because of the notes Jarvis left behind, about what it means to be an AI and Tony can only marvel at the fact that Jarvis _left notes_.) when Barton drops from the ceiling. 

All Tony can do is sigh and wipe his mouth with a cloth. He sets down his utensils and gives Barton his full, undivided, _irritated_ attention. 

“Yes Barton, how may I help you?” he says pleasantly. 

Barton straightens up from his dropped crouch and saunters over to the table. 

“Nat told me you were throwing yourself a pity party.” he says casually as he steals a breadstick. Tony pointedly, moves the basket away from him and covers his plate with a napkin. 

“Then Romanoff told you wrong.” he says pleasantly.

Barton snorts. “Whatever come on.” Then Barton turns his back and starts walking away. 

Tony doesn’t move. Instead, he uncovers his plate and goes back to eating dinner. 

Barton half turns. “Stark,” he says, annoyed. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.” 

“And what, pray tell, are they waiting for?” Tony asks as he bites into a breadstick. Buttery, crispy goodness explodes in his mouth. 

“For _you_ dumbass. Since you didn’t throw a party we threw you one, come on.” Barton beckons him on. 

Tony takes a deep breath and settles in to having to tell some very thick people some very harsh truths. “No,” he says, very deliberately. “Look, I know you all are trying but there is nothing to try for. Whatever we had is over.” 

“Stop being petty, Stark, and just accept that, by some miracle, we still want you.” Barton snarls. 

“But here’s the problem with that. _I don’t want you._ I don’t care that you all have forgiven me for your perceived slights. I don’t care. I am here, working with you all, not because I wanted any sort of forgiveness or comradery, it’s because it’s mandatory. And I’m not holding a grudge, I’m really not. I’m just over it. I’m over _you._ All of you.” 

Tony stands and approaches Barton letting his presence do all the work of pushing Barton out the door. “So listen, thank you for the party. Nice thought, A+. But I don’t want anything to do with it or any of you, okay? Now can you let me have my birthday in peace? Thanks.” 

Tony closes the door and goes back to his pasta.

* * *

At this point, Tony thinks the rogues are just going down the list. Falcon briefly stops by, taking the elevator up. Tony is there to meet him at the door and smiles as he sends it back down. Falcon opens his mouth to say something but just heaves a sigh and gives up. 

Ant-man has never been to the compound. Scott is… Scott is upset and reasonably bitter and disillusioned. He’s back in jail. Tony thinks he’ll get out in another six months but when he does, he won’t be able to see his daughter for a long, long time. 

The next person they send is Barnes, because Rogers is a dumbass. 

Tony stares in disbelief as Barnes sits meekly on his couch with his hands folded. “They told me to come up and assure you that I’m not mad at you.” he explains shyly.

Tony snorts, Barnes quirks up an eyebrow. 

“I know. It’s a load of horseshit. What _I_  wanted to come up to say was, Happy Birthday and I’m sorry.” 

Tony stares. He doesn’t think he’s had any apologies yet. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember it well and everyone keeps telling me it wasn’t me but at the very least I’m sorry my body did it. I’m sorry you had to face that and I’m sorry Steve was an utter dick about it. You didn’t deserve that, no one does, so I’m sorry that happened and that I had any part in it.”

Tony… doesn’t know what to say. 

“I,” he tries. 

Barnes quirks a smile and stands up slowly. He’s clear to be non threatening and relaxed. He nods at Tony and starts heading out the door. 

“Well, that’s all. Sorry to interrupt and once again, Happy Birthday.” 

Barnes leaves.

* * *

Tony is sure, beyond sure, that Steve is coming up next. But, he’s not letting himself stress out about it. It’s still his birthday, still time for him to relax and enjoy life for today. 

Nevertheless he finds himself slightly tense anyway so he pushes his bath up the schedule and sets in for some good solid relaxing. The first and last time Tony had a bubble path was with Pepper. He’d never had one before because his Dad’s a dick and his Mom, bless her heart, had been fading away from major depression _years_ before he’d been born, so they’d never done things for him like run a bubble bath. And Jarvis, no matter how loving and gentle he was, was also a soldier and so everything he did had a hint of economy. He very, very carefully managed all the resources in the house, time and water included. 

Tony almost doesn't remember how it goes. In fact, he stands there listening to the running water and holding, of all things, Mr.Bubble Original Bubble bath for a solid five minutes, just _thinking,_ before he says fuck it and dumps the entire bottle in.

He stays in the bathroom while it runs, watching the water drum at the bottom of the tub and bubbles bloom. It brings him an odd sense of peace, a kind of childish one that he rather likes a lot. 

When it’s done, he strips immediately and slowly eases himself in. 

It’s the most peaceful and purely joyful he’s felt in a long time. The water is on just the right side of warm, not too hot but hot enough to be delightfully melting. The bubbles are fun and oddly soft, hissing gently as he eases in, and it feels like the tub cups him and cradles him _just right_. He can feel himself going slack, just floating and feeling, gently rocked and calm. The water doesn’t go above his chin so the usual absolute panic doesn’t reach him. He feels like he’s been wrapped up in a great big ball of safety and relaxation. 

Good God, why has he never done this before?!?! He languishes for twenty minutes in absolute bliss. This is perfect, everything is perfect.

So of course, that’s when Steve drops by. 

“Boss,” Friday starts hesitantly, her irish twang rolling off reluctantly, “I’d hate to interrupt you but Rogers is at the door.” 

Tony feels floaty and warm and honestly doesn’t give a single fuck. He turns over in his bath and hums absently.

“Put ‘em in the living room or somethin’ Fri.” He mumbles. Steve can wait. 

“Will do, Boss.”

Tony languishes in his bath until it starts getting cold, then, he sighs and unplugs the tub, stepping out to get a towel. 

He thinks about getting dressed but he’s got a lot more pampering to do for himself and not even Steve fucking Rogers is going to stop that. And hey, maybe him being wrapped up in his red and gold iron man robe (that he got from Walmart but guess what? You can’t fucking prove that.) will really hit home that today is a personal day. 

His hair is still wet when he heads down to the living room and passes Steve by and goes straight to the kitchen. He catches a glance of him, out of the corner of his eye, spread legged and comfortable on Tony’s couch, confident with a tilt to his chin. Tony blithely ignores him and goes straight for the coffee machine. 

He’s going to do something a little special for himself and make himself a Cappuccino because hey, today was all about pampering, right? 

He hears Steve shift in the background, stiff cloth moving. Steve clears his throat pointedly. 

Tony hums vaguely. 

“So are you the last one in this parade through my floor?” he asks conversationally. 

Steve huffs. “Come on Tony, get off that.” Steve shifts behind him again as the coffee machine starts the slow drip of a Cappuccino. 

Tony doesn’t… Tony doesn’t want to be sharp. Doesn’t want to be hurt about this anymore. He’s tired of being irritated, of feeling unsafe and cornered, of feeling like he has to defend himself. God, he is so _tired_ of having to defend himself. 

So he won’t.

He turns around and decides to just be open and honest. 

“Listen Steve” he starts out softly, “You’re a good man. You are. You care about people, you strive to do what’s right, you put everything you have into everything you do. -” 

He almost feels bad when Steve starts to smile. 

“- But you’re not good for me. Nobody’s fault. As people, we’re just not good for each other. And I know you want to try, want to be my friend again and have everything go back to the way it was but Steve,” Tony catches Steve’s eye and holds it, trying to make him understand. “It will _never_ go back to the way it was. I didn’t _like_ the way it was. God, if you knew how I felt then…” Tony trails off with a sigh. “We’re not good for each other and it’s high time you realized that.” 

Steve purses his mouth, “Now Tony you know that’s not true. We’ve hit a bit of a rough patch but-”

“Steve,” Tony says again, soft, so soft, “You know I can’t stand you standing behind me now?” He shifts forward a bit and Steve leans back. Tony keeps himself soft, soft, not sharp. Heart honest but not open. 

“I hate it. Gives me panic attacks. That and hearing Clint thumping in the vents or seeing Natasha smile. It all… It all makes my skin crawl now Steve. And- and you know me. I’m not one to hold a grudge. I’m a get even or forget about it kind of person, right?” 

At this, Steve nods, years and years of Clint vs. Tony prank wars flashing in his mind. Tony leans forward just a bit more and Steve unconsciously takes a step back. 

“So you know yeah, Steve? If I haven’t gotten even or forgotten about it then it’s-” 

“Permanent.” Steve parrots back, a long forgotten memory ringing somewhere.

Tony smiles. “That’s right. That means it’s just a part of me now. I’ll never forget, I’ll never forgive, how I feel and how I felt are engraved into me. So listen Steve, really listen, cause I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings, I’m saying this because it’s permanent.” 

Tony pats Steve on the chest, trying, for a second, to be comforting and then says,

“I will never trust you again. So please, for the both of us, stop _trying._ ” 

Tony smiles again and picks up his cappuccino. He slides by Steve, who can do nothing but stare at him, open mouthed and goes back to his room. 

Maybe, for the end of his day he can watch some movies? Or oh! Maybe video call Rhodey? 

He smiles. Heart lighter than it has been in a while.

Friday was right. A personal day was _exactly_ what he needed.


End file.
